There is little I know about my great-grandmother Lise-Rose. She dotted on my mother and committed her life to service in our little village church. Even though I never met her I have felt a strong connection to her. Not only because she was so gracious and loving towards my own mother but because I identify with her need and love of serving. Serving is a way for me to connect my faith to my community. It is has always been about relationship. It is where my faith, family and community meet and grow. The stone walls I walk around today still hold up the hallelujahs and the waves are also found close by. Yet, in the midst of this there is hurt that is leaking out through the seams of misunderstanding and distrust.

Writing about hurts in your church is like writing about hurt from your mother. You don't want to expose unpleasantness. You want to protect what has shown you love and protection. Since joining our church almost 3 years ago our family has found a place to ride out the storms and a place to grow our faith. Even more I have found a place to serve with the gifts God has given me. Recently I have seen some things that have challenged my faith in God's plan. I question whether or not what I feel and see is representative of his guidance or the failings of people. I struggle between the need to please others by turning a blind eye or speaking up when something isn't quite right. Each has a consequence that doesn't sit well with me. I watch as others quietly disapprove and disappear. It seems to me that the one place the truth should be embraced is sometimes the hardest place to speak it.

I am forced to remember that though I long to please others I am not here to do this. God has called me to live openly so that I can inspire others to serve him.